


Hard Work

by chooken



Category: Westlife
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock Warming, Desk Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Smut, Spit As Lube, Under-Desk Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 08:44:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15311763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: “Can I put my mouth round you if I don't move or anything?”“Jesus,” Kian groans.  “Um.”“Just want to taste you.  You won't even know I'm there.”





	Hard Work

“Kian?”

It's soft. A little rumbly from the doorway. Kian doesn't look up, too busy with the mound of paperwork spread across his desk in their home office. He doesn't need to look anyway to know Mark's there. Heard familiar shuffling footsteps before Mark spoke, the whisper of socks on carpet.

“Mm?” He reaches for an expense breakdown. It was easier to print it all out. Often he'll just flick through it all on his laptop, fifteen or so tabs getting confused with each other until his eyes want to bleed. He prefers this, when he's home. The tangability of it. There's something more satisfying about being able to run a highlighter pen over things and put them all in a neat stack when he's done. Louis does the same thing.

Jesus Christ he's turning into Louis.

“How's it going?”

“Slowly.” Mark's presence is punctuated by his answering silence. “If it's about lunch, I'll come down for something later.” He sighs and twirls his pen clumsily in one hand. “Mm.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“Not really. I'm just...” He yawns. He knows he doesn't technically have to do all this stuff. Still, he likes to be in control, and it's the first time he's really had the opportunity. Maybe Wonderland aren't going to be the next Spice Girls, but it's dipping his toe in the pool in a way he hasn't done before. And if the ripples are spreading he needs a little say in the direction. “Sorry. I'll take tomorrow afternoon off. I promise.” He looks up. Mark is looking a little sleepy. He's been watching TV most of the day. Kian has been able to hear it from the living room downstairs.

Part of the reason he's better off in here, everything in front of him. Knowing them they'll end up in a three hour marathon of some trash reality show neither of them really care about.

“Coffee?”

“God, I'd love that.” Mark's smile is sunshine. Kian manages one back. “Black. One sugar and a kiss.”

“You want the kiss now or when I get back?”

“When you get back.” He turns back to his work. Realises he's still smiling when he hears the hum of the coffee-maker downstairs beginning to boil. Mark does that to him.

He's still smiling when footsteps ascend the stairs again and the door creaks back open.

“Careful. It's hot.”

“Thank you.” He cranes his neck for a kiss. Rumpled in trackpants and a soft hoodie. His hand winds gently in hair that's lengthened slightly in the off-time. “You're not supposed to be distracting me.”

“Sorry.” Mark isn't. Neither is Kian particularly. “I'll let you go back to thinking about your girlfriend.”

“She's a friend.” Kian rolls his eyes. An old joke. Mark knows Jodi's no threat. Maybe they'd had a fling early on, but then things had... changed. Kian had. Or maybe he'd just realised what he'd been all along. What had been missing when he'd been looking for something that didn't quite...

“I'm a friend.”

“You're a distraction, is what you are.” He pulls Mark into his lap a moment, though the office chair gives a warning squeak when he does and rolls slightly backwards under their inertia. Arms drape sulkily around his shoulders. “Gorgeous thing.” Another kiss that leaves him gasping. “You said you wouldn't distract me.”

“It's been hours, though.”

“And it'll probably be at least a few more.”

“Fine, then. I won't get in your way.” He doesn't move, though. Unless a wriggle counts. “Go on. Not stopping you.”

“Fine,” Kian sighs. Grabs the edge of the desk and pulls the chair back in so he can see what he's been working on. Mark's not that heavy, but he is tall, and he's a bastard to see around. “You're not stopping me, I'll keep working.” He picks up a sheet of paper, looks at it blankly. Mark takes a sip of his coffee. “Hey!”

“Still too hot.” He puts it back down. “I was checking for you.”

“Oh, thanks.” Kian rolls his eyes. “Could you get out of my way, please?”

“Where do you want me to go?”

“Don't care. Out of my way.” There's a traitorous laugh infecting his voice. Mark may be irritating in a mood, but he's adorable in a way that hasn't changed with six years of irritation. He's gorgeous.

Stupid, gorgeous, sexy, irritating man.

“Fine.” And then Mark goes boneless, and Kian has to hold onto the desk again as he goes slithering obstinately to the floor.

“ _What..._ are you doing?”

“Getting out of your way.” Mark curls up under the desk. It's a large desk, but his head's still bowed forward to fit. It doesn't look entirely comfortable. There's room for Kian's legs, not an entire person. Now there's not even room for Kian's legs.

He pulls forward anyway, shoving Mark backwards with his knees and relishing the squawk of protest.

“Out of my way,” Kian teases. There's a thump when something knocks on the underside of the desk. Probably Mark's head. Another one that might be an elbow. He can't see Mark any more, is wondering how long he can keep the eejit trapped under there and uncomfortable before they both give up and create a trail of clothes down the floor to the bedroom.

He knows what Mark's doing. Knows he'll give in, eventually.

Not yet, though.

“Mark!” he yelps. Fingers are twitching carefully at the draw-string of his trackpants. A floating snigger echoes around his thighs. He leans back to look down, sees wide, innocent eyes, fingers frozen on the knot. “Let me work.”

“Not stopping you.”

“Fuck off.” He slaps at a teasing hand. Mark pouts. “Markus.”

“Only my mam calls me that.”

“Good, I'll call her and tell her what you're up to.” He reaches for the phone, waves it threateningly in Mark's direction. Gets a pout. The hands draw away. “Are you getting out?”

“No, thank you.”

“Fine, stay there. Just stay still.” He huffs and yanks closer to the desk, sinking his knees in as deep as possible to hear the grunt of annoyance. “Fucking impossible.”

And Mark does, for a while, stay still. Twenty minutes later, pen scratching through spreadsheets and other rot, he's not entirely sure Mark isn't asleep. Can feel him breathing, the warmth of a human body curled up at his feet, but otherwise Mark is silent. A hand settles on his knee. He stiffens, then allows it when it stops. Feels a chin rest there too.

“Love you,” he says quietly, and lets his hand slip down to stroke through soft hair. Teeth nip at his wrist as he goes to pull away, and he stops. Feels lips engulf his thumb before drawing off slowly.

They keep going like that. One finger after another. A gentle bite catches the pad of his pinky, finally, and he withdraws his hand, hears a hum of triumph. Smirks to himself. Like having a pet. A big pet. One that's nuzzling tenderly into his knee.

“Can I put my mouth round you if I don't move or anything?”

“Jesus,” Kian groans. “Um.”

“Just want to taste you. You won't even know I'm there.”

“I doubt that very much,” Kian chuckles. Mark nuzzles his knee again. “Er.” Fuck it. “How long for?”

“Until you tell me to stop.” It's sultry. “Could stay there hours, if you want. As long as you say.” Teeth dig into his inner thigh, sharp even through the fabric. “You don't even have to move. And it'll keep me quiet.” He sounds almost pleased about this absurd stroke of logic. “Can't talk with your cock in my throat, can I?”

“I... yeah. S'pose that makes sense.” He parts his thighs slightly, feels the tug of his draw-string being undone a moment later. The loosening of the elastic. Gentle fingers free him, pulling him over the edge in a way that feels more like a doctor's inspection than anything, his balls lifted over the waistband too.

There's the soft smack of lips. Hands on his thighs pulling him forward.

He closes his eyes at the wet sleeve of heat that closes around him. It's tender. Mark's mouth is heaven. Cradling lips that mouth to the root. Blunt teeth he settles against, cold lines that feel like danger and not-quite-discomfort. The ridged curve of a pallet.

That's as far as he goes. Kian's not hard. Not particularly. Aroused, sure, but this is too weird and businesslike to get him up in the usual way. Not that the caress of a mouth is keeping him soft.

Mark's as good as his word. Stops at the bottom and pauses. Frozen there. He clears his throat, like he's letting Kian know he's allowed to get to work.

Kian supposes he is.

It's a supremely weird feeling. He can feel Mark. Feel every breath. Not erotic. Not in the traditional sense, though Kian doesn't know how traditional they are in that respect. It's something else. Mark is existing around him. Taking him in.

He feels a swallow, then the purse of lips resettling. Five minutes he's been there. Kian isn't sure if that's a long time or not, knows his own jaw would definitely be a bit sore by now. Still, Mark isn't complaining.

His hands slips beneath the desk again, other one still twirling his pen. Caresses soft hair he can't see then puts down the pen and reaches for his coffee. The first sip is tentative. The second almost a gulp when he realises it's the right temperature. It wakes him up a little. Strikes him from the odd stupor he's been in since Mark took him in his mouth.

“You said you wouldn't move,” he scolds carefully, when another swallow ripples around him. Mark grunts. Pats his knee. “If you can't keep your promises you can climb out and go away.” He makes a show of shuffling papers. “Thanks for the coffee, by the way.”

An agreeable hum. Kian is trying not to break into hysterical laughter.

He shifts. Mark moves with him. He's not sure how hard he's gotten. It feels extraneous, like the drool beginning to soak into the waistband of his trackpants now that Mark's stopped swallowing it. All he knows is that he can feel more of Mark's mouth now. The stretch of lips expanding around him. The occasional brush of a throat with the slow, careful breaths Mark's allowing through his nose.

They tickle. Sift into his pubes like a calm breeze.

This is so fucking _weird._

He giggles silently to himself. Shuffles more papers. He's not working now. Or he is, as far as work involves a bizarre battle of libidos with an obstinate boyfriend.

“I have to do a band meeting in the morning,” he says casually. Mark hums gently, though he sounds oddly disappointed. “Just for a little bit in the morning, but then I can take you to lunch?” The next hum sounds more upbeat. “Thanks for understanding.”

A grunt of agreement. Kian shudders. He's definitely hard. Normally when he's like this there'll be a clever tongue. A suck of pressure. This isn't that. It's snug, of course, but there's nothing like a caress. He's just sitting there. His cock nestled in Mark's mouth.

He giggles again, feels a rumble of laughter in reply.

“Your jaw must be getting sore,” he comments. No reply. A runnel of spit tracks down his left testicle, making him shiver. He reaches for his coffee cup again, takes a swallow, then puts it back down. Wants to look, but he suspects that may spell him losing. Assuming this is competitive. He's not sure if this is competitive. But it must be, because Mark's trying to win.

Possibly.

“Er.” He doesn't know what to say next. Mark's in for the long haul? Okay. He can work with this. “Back to work, then. Good chat.” He picks up his pen. Taps it twice, then leans forward to do something that could be described as productive, were his eyes even seeing the page.

He manages it, after a few minutes of dithering. Mark's right, in a way. Not about not knowing he's there because, Christ, how could you forget? But he does get used to it. It's comfortable. A feeling he settles into. He can feel himself softening again. Not out of disinterest, but just because that's what his body does. It's pleasurable in a distant way. Like warm cocoa on a cold morning.

He realises his hand's been sifting through Mark's hair for some time after it's started. Doesn't stop. Mark hasn't moved. The crotch of Kian's sweatpants is soaked. His balls tense every now and then, an ache of idle arousal, but otherwise it's... oddly sweet. Mark around him and savouring his body's rhythms.

Kian lets himself breathe out. Breathe in again. Closes his eyes and wonders why he wants to sleep. Wonders what it is. A power thing? Not really. They've always been equal, though there's been the occasional bit of slap and tickle.

It's not that.

It's...

“Can you keep going?” he asks softly. Mark doesn't reply. His mouth's gone a little slack. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs. Thinks Mark's fallen asleep for a second. Then he shifts, and he feels a hand cup to the one going through his boyfriends hair, pulls it around to stubbly cheek instead, one that's tacky with drying saliva.

He feels himself harden again. The twitch of a gag, then the careful relax of Mark pushing past it. Mark breathes through his nose. Their fingers thread together.

“I'll stay,” Kian decides. The fingers squeeze. “Could stay here forever,” he murmurs. Held in that perfect mouth. “It's been an hour,” he announces. Mark's jaw must be _killing_. “Want to try another half hour? I'll be done then.”

Mark doesn't reply. Just squeezes. Kian pulls his hand back reluctantly. Mark's throat hitches again. Mapping the walls of his lover's throat, and Jesus, has it ever felt this intimate? There's a good amount of trust in sticking your bits near teeth, obviously, but this is more than that. It's faith. Home. Allowing Mark this, even if he's not sure what the hell this is.

He finishes earlier than he expects, once the decision's made. Realises he's rushing. Whatever he's going to do to Mark after this is going ro require substantial time and a clear head. Seven minutes left when he sorts everything back into the folder and puts it aside to take to the office tomorrow.

He goes to pull Mark away. Hesitates. Hot haven. He wonders if it's possible for a cock to get pruny and then realises he doesn't give a sideways fuck.

Solitaire. That'll do. He's halfway through sorting his diamonds and clubs when the clock ticks over.

Mark doesn't know how long it's been, of course. He could do this forever if he wanted to.

No. If they're anything, they're honest.

He takes a deep breath before he rolls back. Fills his lungs and feels the slight lift of it tugging his balls toward his core. They're full. Not urgent. Confusedly wondering if they're supposed to be doing something soon. Mark is breathing, deep and slow and even. Unhurried.

He's wonderful.

Kian pushes back half an inch. Looks down. To closed eyes and cherry-reddened lips. The grey of his tracksuit bottoms is a spreading, darkening arc of saliva. It's dripping down Mark's chin. His hair's a ruin when Kian's been absently running his fingers through it.

Then Mark's eyes open. Blue and dazed. Positively blissed out.

“Fuck,” Kian whispers reverently. Mark still hasn't moved. His throat jumps again. Kian's hard. Properly, this time. Dark lashes descend. Hooded eyes and a relieved smile darting through Mark's cheeks. “Don't... pull off yet,” he instructs.

Mark closes his eyes again, sinks forward like his lips are snuggling into Kian's groin for a nap. Kian laughs brokenly.

“Take...” He swallows. “Pull down your bottoms, alright?” Mark doesn't for a moment, though his face pinches, obviously trying to figure out the logistics of it. “I... christ. I don't want to be outside of you for longer than it takes to go from your mouth to your arse,” he explains gruffly. Mark groans helplessly. “Yeah?”

Fingers scrabble at an elastic waistband. Lift it down until it's stretched around thick thighs. Mark's cock springs up immediately, slapping against his hoodie. It's red. Looks like it's been hard all this time. Kian is going to do something about that.

Lube. Fuck. He needs lube.

“Er...” He glances around himself. Mark's generally an easy bottom, but even he's not going to take it dry. He's still groping around, helplessly opening desk drawers and wondering if it's going to ruin the mood if he wheels backwards on the chair down the hallway with Mark crawling on his knees when.

When.

Fingers slip in alongside him, and he looks down in time to see them divert to behind Mark's back, pressing.

“Oh, Christ,” Kian mutters. A whine echoes where the fingers have left as they push in. There's enough spit. Not that it's much of a lube, but Mark doesn't seem to be complaining. One finger. Two. Quick succession that can't be comfortable by the way Mark's whimpering around his cock.

He's rocking. Mouth sucking down slightly to hold position as he opens himself on a twisted hand.

“Don't... don't hurt yourself,” Kian says vaguely. Dazed eyes roll, then tip back on a moan. Kian shifts closer. Lets Mark grind against his thigh to equalise the discomfort. It's disgustingly hot. Sticky leak leaving another wet stain on his leg the same colour as the one on his lap. “If you need to come, you can-”

Mark snorts, batting away Kian's kindness with a glare. His hand twists again. The noise Mark makes next is a shout. A muffled blurt of something that has his hips bucking suddenly. Then again. His free arm wraps around Kian's waist for purchase, arse lifting in the scant space under the desk to give him more room, on his knees and fucking himself open.

“Fuck.” Kian's cock jumps, chased by his hips. Mark takes it. Takes it again. “Fuck. Babe. As soon as you're ready. Fuck.” He groans, slouches forward in the seat without meaning to. Mark's hands smooth up his thighs. Both of them. His trackpants around his knees.

There's a pop when he lets go. Climbs up in one move and kisses Kian deep. He feels a ruin. Lips cracked at the corners and cheeks hot. Kian winds both hands into his hair to suck him closer, and is left gasping when Mark turns, finds him, and in one smooth drop, sits back.

“Oh _fuck!”_ Kian yelps. He goes in hot. Wet, but it's not the slick of lube. Is an altogether more prickly sensation that can't feel comfortable but Jesus _Christ_. _“Fuckfuckfuck...”_ The neighbour are going to hear. He doesn't give a fuck. Yowls when Mark slams back again.

The chair squeaks. He rolls back. Leans Mark forward, hand between his shoulder to force him until long arms are folded on the desk. Feels his cock tilt and has to bite back another yell when the angle almost slips them apart. Slams them back together, the chair wheels taking the effort of the movement as he uses his feet to move, his hand to hold.

“God. Uh.” His hand fists into dark hair that's slick with sweat along the hairline. Squeezes possesively at the back of a long neck. Mark's arms stretch to grab other side of the desk, knuckles white.

Kian takes him harder. Hears a choked gasp. Then another. Isn't sure if that's good or not and supposes he'd better...

“You. Okay?” he grinds out between clenched teeth.

“God, just _fuck_ me,” Mark croaks breathlessly. His feet plant more firmly on the floor. Leverage. Kian yanks him back harder. “Ki... _an!_ ”

“Marky,” Kian gasps. The desk slides forward an inch or so while Mark wails and scrabbles at the surface. Kian's really glad he's tidied the papers away. No point wasting hard work after all that...

Jesus, why is he even thinking about work.

“Good boy,” he hisses. Mark moans. “God you just... you took it, didn't you?” There's a gurgling cry in response. It has to be intense from the other side. Kian's striking Mark's prostate every other thrust and he can feel the pressure threatening to turn to sobs. It must be brutal.

And Mark's just.

The chair threatens to roll from under him. Kian shoves forward and struggles up. Mark's got longer legs than him, but that doesn't matter when they're half buckled, the desk holding his weight. Presses in close, yanks Mark against his front and pulls him in tight. A hard embrace, moans singing to the hard percussion of his front slamming to Mark's back. Their sweatpants around their knees, Mark's pooling towards his feet, and Kian's hand up under his hoodie, twisting a nipple to the edge of brutality.

“Kian,” Mark wheezes. He stiffens. His feet scrabble uselessly at the carpet. “I have to.”

“Touch yourself,” Kian mutters. It hadn't occurred to him to give the order. That Mark wouldn't until he was told.

It's already moving when it closes around Mark's cock.

“Come when you like,” Kian says. Mark shakes his head. “Why not?”

“Because... ah.” His free hand clenches on the edge of the desk. Kian slams into him. A hard _slap-slap-slap_ of connecting bodies. “If I come it'll. It'll be too much. God it _hurts_.” Not a complaint. Kian is in awe. _Slap-slap-slap-slap._ “Kian- _Kian-Kian-KIAN!”_ He howls, head tipping back. Kian bites into an exposed throat, already sure he means to leave a bruise. “Ah huh huh _fuck Kiannnn...”_

“Love,” Kian gasps. Mark drives back onto him.

A mercy. To Mark, perhaps. To himself.

He doesn't cum so much as _possess_. Yanks Mark tight to himself and snarls his release into another hard bite. Shoulder and sweat and the distant taste of Mark's spit where it's leaked down his neck. Stiffens, letting Mark do the work because he _can't._ Is frozen in the agony of the moment.

Mark's head tips back. His hips are still going. Chasing it. Kian pulls out. Bends Mark forward and shoves two fingers back into the fluttering hole without any ado. One hand holding him to the desk, forced between tensing shoulder blades.

“God. Ki.” It's helpless. Mark heaves. Hitches with effort, jerks into his hand. “Kian. I.”

“You're fucking gorgeous,” Kian whispers. “How the fuck do you always make me feel like this?” His fingers work with the sudden roll of Mark's body. Feels the clench. Mark's free hand slaps down on the surface of the desk, and he turns his head, eyes opening suddenly wide.

The neighbours definitely heard that one.

They shower together. Kian can't exactly leave Mark to stand on his own and the poor man's covered with drool and cum from nose to knees by the time they catch their breath and Kian finishes licking over the emerging bruises on his neck and shoulders.

So he washes Mark down carefully. Leans him against the wall and wipes him over with a cloth, then lets him slump happily in the bottom of the shower while Kian massages shampoo into his hair and tenderly rinses it out.

“S'good,” Mark slurs. His voice is a little croaky. Kian isn't surprised.

He turns off the shower. Dries Mark down as carefully as he knows how, then settles him on the bed, naked. Checks over his body an inch at a time, kissing into his abused hole until his love moans and bats him away with a pained laugh.

It's the next morning when he goes to collect his papers and finds Mark crouched uncomfortably on the floor, scrubbing the carpet.

“Er...” He chuckles when he realises. Mark gives him a rueful grin.

“Figured I'd sort it before the maid arrives.” He stands up. “Off to work?”

“Jodi's picking me up in a minute. Going by myself so you don't distract me.” Mark smirks. “Hey... yesterday was...” He breathes out slowly. “I mean. I liked it.”

“Me too.” He stands up. “Could do it more. Not... that, exactly, but you know.” Kian nods. “We could talk about it?”

“We definitely could,” Kian agrees. Mark nods.

“Yeah.” He's a little pink. With excitement more than embarrassment. The corners of his mouth still look cracked and red. Kian wants to shove his cock in it badly, but now is clearly not the time. “Um. So have a good morning. Call me when you want to be picked up and I'll swing by for lunch.” They both jump at a honk from the street. “That'll be Jodi.”

Kian kisses him goodbye.

He climbs into the car a minute later. Groans slightly as he does. He hurts, from yesterday. It's a good hurt. Raw. Though probably not as raw as Mark.

His phone beeps in his pocket. He fishes it out as she pulls away from the curb.

_I'm thinking about having you tie me to your desk and spanking me with your stapler._

“Jesus,” Kian mutters, and crosses his legs. Jodi glances at him.

“Alright?”

“Yeah. Um.” He hesitates, then switches the phone to vibrate and shoves it back his pocket. “Just... work stuff.”

“Important?”

“Sort of.” He clears his throat when his phone vibrates again. “Have to sort it out later.”


End file.
